History That Doesn't Suck - 173: From Hyde Park to the White House: The Early Life and Election of Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Episode Date: February 10, 2025

“First of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself-–nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.” This is the story of Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s journey to the White House. Even as a young boy, Franklin admires his fifth cousin Theodore Roosevelt and wants to follow in his footsteps. He seems to have a knack for it too. He attends the same schools. He serves in many of the same political positions. Even his failures only seemed to build his prestige. Ever congenial and likable, Franklin appears to have the world on a string. Then the challenges arrive. Franklin’s affair rocks his and Eleanor’s marriage. Polio robs him of his physical strength, vigor, and ability to walk. As an independently wealthy Roosevelt, he has every excuse to fade into the background.  But that isn’t who Franklin is. As Governor of New York, he’s as aggressive in fighting off the Great Depression as he is in fighting off the challenges of polio. Is he onto something? Is his “New Deal” what the nation needs? That’s a question for the American people to decide in 1932 as he runs for the White House. Our gratitude to the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Presidential Library & Museum for its rich collection of speeches and other writings. Learn more at FDRlibrary.org. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. HTDS is part of Audacy media network. Interested in advertising on the History That Doesn't Suck? Contact Audacyinc.com To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Rise to rewards with the BMO Eclipse Rise Visa Card. Terms and conditions apply. It's a late Wednesday afternoon, August 10th, 1921, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt is at, well, his favorite place on earth, Campobello Island. It's a small Canadian island, no more than a quarter mile from the coastal American town of Lubeck, Maine, and Franklin has been vacationing here virtually his entire life. Now 39 years old, the former New York State Senator, former Assistant Secretary of the Navy, and recent U.S. Vice Presidential candidate turned VP of Fidelity and Deposit Company is happy to get some needed R&R with his family.

Not that Franklin, who only joined his family on the island yesterday, is doing much resting. So far, the days included sailing, putting out a wildfire, and a two mile run from the house to Lake Glen Severn, which is where he and his five kids are swimming and otherwise goofing around right this minute. So a day of strenuous activity. His fifth cousin and hero, the recently passed former president Theodore Roosevelt, would be proud. Prouder still that, after this swim, Franklin will jump into the nearby open waters of the Bay of Fundy, then

run the two miles back home. Yeah, if TR were still with us, I think he would describe FDR's day as...bully. Finishing his run home from the bay, Franklin enters his family's stunning two and a half story, 32 room and cedar shingled cottage, as they call it. It seems there's a sizable stack of mail. Still in his swimsuit, Franklin scoops it all up, collapses in a chair, and tries to overcome the fatigue of the day as he sorts through letters. But as his blue eyes scan the seemingly endless envelopes, Franklin isn't rebounding.

He also has some serious lower back pain and is feeling nauseous. The well-exercised Roosevelt wonders, is he getting sick? Telling his wife Eleanor that he has a chill and is going to skip dinner, Franklin stands his full 6 feet and 2 inches and heads to bed. It's the next morning, Thursday, August 11. Franklin wakes to find aches running from his legs up his back and into his neck. Rising from the bed, one of his legs kind of lags. It must be sore muscles.

Franklin figures he'll walk it off. But it's all he can do to stumble into the bathroom. He grips the sink and manages to suffer through his morning shave. But oh, his legs! He stumbles back to the bedroom. Franklin knows the kids will be disappointed. How can he take them camping if he's this sick? He's running a fever of 102. Eleanor sends the kids with their friend, Grace Howe, the wife of Franklin's loyal political advisor and employee, Louis Howe, then calls their local family practitioner in Lubick, Dr. Bennett. The doctor is baffled.

He diagnoses Franklin with a bad cold, which his fevered patient knows can't be right. Things are only worse when Dr. Bennett returns the next day. Franklin can't even stand on his wretched, aching legs without help. Urinating is difficult. It's now Saturday, August 13th. The Roosevelt kids return from camping while Franklin is paralyzed from the chest down. Even his arms have lost their strength. It's hard to believe that this is the same large and towering man who vigorously sailed,

swam and ran just days before. Now Dr. William Keane arrives. On vacation himself just a little farther down the main coast at Bar Harbor, the retired but renowned doctor diagnoses Franklin with a blood clot in his spine. One that must be dissolving given that Franklin can move one of his toes. Days pass. Eleanor sleeps on the couch in Franklin's room.

Loyal to a fault, Louis Howe has arrived. He sleeps on a cot just outside the bedroom. He doesn't know it yet, but from this moment on, Louis will effectively be his boss's constant companion until his own dying day. Eleanor massages Franklin's powerless limbs. It's torture, but doctors orders. She administers a catheter and otherwise wears herself ragged, caring for the husband who so thoroughly shattered her mended but deeply scarred heart just a few years ago.

Louis attends to Franklin's bedpan. They move him about to avoid bed sores. Dr. Keane changes his diagnosis to a lesion of the spinal cord and through it all, Franklin, this handsome, charismatic New York elite who but days ago had the world on a string, wonders if God has simply forsaken his fevered, incontinent, paralytic, and pain-ridden body. Urged by Louis, who knows a thing or two about physical misery brought on by misdiagnosing doctors, Franklin's uncle, Frederick Delano, calls some of the finest medical minds in the nation.

A consensus builds. It sounds like infantile paralysis. A specialist in it, Dr. Robert Lovett, makes the trek from Boston to Campobello Island, where on August 25th, he does indeed confirm the diagnosis for his atrophine partially paralyzed patient. Franklin Roosevelt has contracted polio. Dr. Lovett praises Eleanor's care but instructs her to stop the massages, which have only caused severe pain and made things worse. The Roosevelts will never forgive Dr. Keen for the heightened

hell his misdiagnosis has caused. On September 13th, a full month after his symptoms first began, the Roosevelt children largely kept in the dark about their father's condition, watching horror as six men carry him on a jerry-rigged pinewood and sail cloth stretcher to make the painful trip from his beloved island to New York Presbyterian Hospital. As they do, Franklin stoically assures the children, I will be all right. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. A Trial by Fire That's how Eleanor Roosevelt describes the horrific days and weeks in which she attended

to Franklin as they suffered through her husband's sudden loss of health and mobility and adjusted to life after polio. Or was it polio? In the 21st century, Dr. Armin Goldman and his colleagues have contended in the Journal of Medical Biography that FDR wasn't afflicted with polio, but rather Guillain-Barre syndrome. This theory has gained traction. Nonetheless, it remains contended and historians have thus far stood by the polio diagnosis. As such, we'll note this debate here, but, in this and future

episodes, stick with the diagnosis that Franklin understood to be the cause of his paralysis, polio. That said, there's a lot more to Franklin than polio. Nicholas Roosevelt, a relative of FDR, once wrote, to be a Roosevelt was to be something distinctive, usually vital and energetic, often brilliant, generally intolerant, and always highly vocal. They were openly and even zealously critical of each other." Close quote. Yes, whether we're talking about the Roosevelts of Long Island's Oyster Bay, like former President Theodore Roosevelt, or their distant upstate cousins of Hyde Park, like soon to become President Franklin D.

Roosevelt. That feels like a fair characterization of both branches of the Empire State's storied Roosevelt family. And today, we'll see how Franklin lives up to those expectations in his early life, as we follow his story from his childhood to his first bold, brave, and braced step into the White House amid the Great Depression. To that end, we'll start by following young Franklin from his Hyde Park home to an elite New England boarding school at Groton, where he watches with admiration as his personal

hero and fifth cousin, rough-riding Theodore Roosevelt, speaks. We'll then observe his courtship and marriage to Teddy's niece and fellow Oyster Bay Roosevelt, Eleanor, who has quite the date with destiny of her own. We'll see their relationship endure the damage of infidelity and change as a result. We'll also see Franklin grow professionally and personally, perhaps particularly after his diagnosis. And finally, we'll see him become the President of the United States with bold talk of a new professionally and personally, perhaps particularly after his diagnosis. And finally, we'll see him become the President of the United States with bold talk of a new deal for the Great Depression-stricken American people.

It's a lot to cover, so let's get started. And you know what that means. Rewind. On January 30th, 1882, loving parents James and Sarah Roosevelt welcome, as James puts it, a splendid, large baby boy at their family estate of Springwood in Hyde Park, New York. Given that his only sibling, his half-brother, is a grown 27-year-old man, this fair, sweet, cunning little bright darling boy, to quote one relative, will grow up effectively as an only child whose parents, and the hired help of course, will see to his every need. That child's name is Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

Unique for her elite New York class, Sarah takes a keen interest in the day-to-day aspects for her son's upbringing. Honestly, she's a micromanager. Sarah puts the future president in skirts with his shoulder-length curls until he's old enough to protest, at which point he's forced to don kilts for family photos. Franklin and his father, whom he affectionately calls Popsey, are quite close. Popsey and Franklin play sports, sail, go tobogganing, you know, all the usual things one would expect an upper-class father to do with his young son in upstate New York. The curly-haired child is curious about the world. He's interested in collections.

At age 10, Franklin receives the family stamp collection and over the course of his life, he'll amass over 1 million stamps kept in 150 albums. But that's in the future. Right now, in September of 1896, the 5'3", 105-pound 14-year-old is embarking on his first extended period of time away from his playful popsy and helicopter parent, Mummy. Yes, Mummy, because high society, gilded age New Yorkers love to feign a little Britishness. Like so many other wealthy northeastern boys, Franklin is getting shipped off to boarding school.

In his case, this means heading to a relatively new but nonetheless elite institution in Groton, Massachusetts. Led by its founder, the Reverend Endicott Peabody, the Groton school has a rigid structure and offers little privacy. To make matters worse, Franklin is a late arrival and struggles to make friends with classmates already bonded by two years of living and studying together. The young, sheltered Hyde Park Roosevelt also finds that he doesn't quite fit in with boys who, well, know how to be boys. He compensates

by overstating his accomplishments in Letters Home to Pop, See and Mummy. It's an immature display of Franklin's still-refining charm, deviousness, and ambition. That said, as historian Conrad Black writes, all in all, he got on. Franklin performs not perfectly but respectably in his studies and in his senior year of 1899 to 1900 serves as a dormitory prefect and role model for many younger students. Yet, despite the challenges, Franklin will one day look back fondly on Groton, which is quickly becoming a tradition for the Roosevelts. In fact, Theodore Roosevelt, that is, Teddy or TR to us, will eventually send all four

of his sons there. See, TR is an old buddy of the Reverend, or Cotty as the man of cloth is known to his friends. And when he is in town, Teddy never misses an opportunity to visit the school and his young fifth cousin. It's just after supper, June 4th 1897. We're on a softly rolling hill in Central Massachusetts at the semi-secluded boarding school that has fast become one of the most prestigious educational institutions in all of New England, the Groton School. And somewhere on this young yet quaint campus sits the nation's newly appointed Assistant

Secretary of the Navy, Theodore Roosevelt. The 38-year-old bespectacled and mustachioed Assistant Secretary is wordsmithing some remarks, which he'll soon share with the boarding school's entire student population of 150. But that's not the only reason T.R. is at Groton. At some point, Teddy makes it a point to visit with the Reverend and the Cot-Pee-Vity, or Cotty, as T.R. knows him. The two friends catch up, but as they do, T.R. makes sure to fix up matters for his small second son, Kermit, who will

be attending the school shortly. We don't have a play-by-play of Tiar's day, but he must have walked around the winding path between the buildings of Groton, likely in awe of the neatly trimmed lawn, so snugly encircled by the school's mix of classical and English revival structures. The most impressive is a deep red brick building with a curving facade, multiple chimneys, and columned porches. Known as the Hundred House, this is the school's central location at the time of T.R.'s visit. We don't know how much time T.R. does or doesn't spend today with Franklin, but it's

certainly possible that he spent a fair share with the lad, and as he addresses the students, likely in the spacious, well-stocked library of his dear friend, the headmaster, Cotty, we know that Franklin loves it. He'll write home to his parents tonight, praising this distant cousin from the family's Oyster Bay branch, particularly the stories that TR tells about his previous position as a New York City police commissioner. To quote him, Cousin Theodore gave us a splendid talk on his adventures on the police board. He kept the whole room in an uproar for over an hour by telling us killing stories about

policemen and their doings in New York. As for Teddy, he'll describe today in one of his signature ways, calling his visit to Groton, a delightful time. Teenage Franklin is filled with admiration for Teddy, and he follows in cousin Theodore's footsteps by enrolling at Harvard College in September 1900. But in a sad twist, Franklin also falls in Teddy's footsteps by losing his father as a Harvard student. Before that very sane year's end, Franklin's dear popsy, James Roosevelt, dies. As for his studies, the future U.S. president adheres to that timeless college student slogan,

Seas get degrees. Meanwhile, Franklin becomes one of the five editors of The Crimson, publishing a series of editorials that are… fairly uninspiring. Yet, he graduates in 1903 and after Harvard, heads to Columbia Law, just like his hero Teddy did. Perhaps more exciting still, Franklin gets to cast a vote for TR in the 1904 election. Doing so as a Democrat does mean crossing party lines, but this is family and such a move falls within the tradition of Roosevelt's never-being-hard ideologues. Besides, Franklin sees nothing inconsistent in voting for his Republican cousin.

To quote him, the Republican candidate, I felt, was a better Democrat than the Democratic candidate. But during these years, there's actually another distantly related Oyster Bay Roosevelt catching Franklin's attention even more than Teddy. I am, of course, referring to Eleanor Roosevelt. Born Anna Eleanor Roosevelt on October 11, 1884, the future Flotus is two years younger than the future POTUS. Eleanor, as she comes to be known, is no stranger to tragedy.

Her mother died when she was eight, and her father followed when she was ten. She was raised pitifully by her maternal grandmother, and many family members worried about the frail young child. In fact, TR's second wife, Edith, once wrote that Eleanor is a quote, poor little soul. She is very plain. Her mouth and teeth seem to have no future, but the ugly duckling may turn out to be a swan." Close quote. Like her future husband, Eleanor also attended boarding school, but hers was in England. She formed a close bond with the 70-year-old head mistress

of French extraction, Marie Souvestre, who took her on holiday to other famous European cities. Now returning to the US in the spring of 1902, Eleanor feels confident and worldly. She's no longer the ugly duckling orphan who left the states. Franklin and Eleanor, or Babs to use his nickname for her, had in fact met a few times when they were children. There's a lovely family anecdote of Franklin carrying his future bride on his back on an

afternoon of an unnamed year. But upon Eleanor's return to the U.S., the two become reacquainted, so to speak, at the November 17, 1902 New York Horse Show, after which they get some dinner with friends. From then on, Franklin continuously seeks out E's Company, as her first initial so often marked in his calendar. About a year later Franklin finally decides to propose. Oh it seemed only natural but I never even thought that we were both young and inexperienced. His fiance later

remembers. My grandmother when I told her asked me if I was sure I was really in love. Oh I solemnly answered yes, and yet I know now that it was years before what being in love or what loving really meant." The engagement is kept secret for a year because of pushback from Franklin's mother, Sarah, but on December 1st, 1904, it's finally announced to society. Newspapers remark that Eleanor has, quote, more claimed good looks than any of the Roosevelt cousins, close quote, a transformation from the ugly duckling

she was once considered. It's decided that the two will wed in New York City on St. Patrick's Day, 1905. And the date was a no brainer. That's when one of the orphaned brides, particularly busy uncles will be in town for the city's parade and therefore able to attend and to give her away. It's just after 3.30 pm, March 17, 1905, St. Patrick's Day.

Two hundred guests are crammed into the drawing rooms of the interconnected houses of cousins Susie Roosevelt and Mrs. Ludlow at 6-8 East 76th Street. The parlors have been opened via communication doors and an altar is perched in front of the fireplace on Mrs. Ludlow's side. The rooms are adorned with pink roses, green palms, and sprinkled with spring flowers. The Reverend Indicott Peabody, or Cotty, is standing in front of the altar, ready to officiate the marriage of his former student. Dressed in his formal finest, 23-year-old Franklin stands at the ready, his Groton and

Harvard classmate Lathrop Brown beside him as best man. Lathrop and the ushers are all wearing matching tie pins with three small feathers and diamonds. It matches the feathers in the bridesmaid's hair, and all this matches the gold watch Franklin recently gave his betrothed with her initials and diamonds and a pin on which to wear it with, yes, three feathers. The soon to be Mrs. Roosevelt will cherish this gift for the rest of her life. Ah, but enough details about the room.

It's time to start. Everyone quiets down as the orchestra begins playing Lohengrin's Wedding March. Six bridesmaids in white silk gowns with sleeves embroidered with silver roses begin descending the spiral staircase. After them, the bride appears. Donning a heavy, long-sleeved satin dress with a pearl collar from her new mother-in-law, Sarah Roosevelt, Eleanor is also wearing her grandmother's rose-point

brussel lace, which her deceased mother likewise wore at her own wedding. The happy bride carries lilies of the valley in her hands while slowly walking toward the altar as she hangs on the arm of her dear uncle, the recently re-inaugurated rough-riding President of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt. Cotty poses his first ceremonial question. Who giveth this woman in marriage? Uncle Ted enthusiastically shouts back, I do. The couple exchanges vows and as the guests make their way into an adjoining room for

the reception, TR slaps FDR on the back and says with a chuckle, Well Franklin, there's nothing like keeping the name and the family. The couple's honeymoon is slightly delayed by Franklin's studies at Columbia Law. He won't graduate, but hey, neither did TR and Franklin still passes the bar all the same. After his term ends though, Franklin and Eleanor steam to Europe aboard the Oceanic. Eleanor returns pregnant. The couple will have six children, of whom five,

one girl and four boys, will survive into adulthood. They move into a house at 49 East 65th Street in New York City, but it's not a normal house. Remember how Al Capone built adjacent houses for his family and his mother in episode 160? Well, matriarch Sarah Roosevelt has forced her son to do more or less the same, and the still helicopter parenting mother quickly demonstrates her disinterest in sharing her son with his new wife. In fact, Sarah is still convinced Franklin could have done better and is determined to remain the most important woman in his life.

Yeah, not a healthy dynamic, but at this point Eleanor is submissive, and the ever non-confrontational Franklin isn't going to fight this battle. That same year, 1908, Franklin's political career takes off. Despite running in a conservative Republican district, the Democratic lawyer beats the incumbent Republican to win a seat in the New York State Senate. It's here that he picks up his most famous speech techniques. He begins by addressing crowds as, my friends. The state senator becomes an instant Albany celebrity, and, according to the New York

Times, an independent-minded Democrat ready to take on the state's corrupt Tammany Hall, just like his distant cousin, the former president, did when he was a young New York state legislator. To quote The Times, Senator Roosevelt is less than 30. He is tall and lithe. With his handsome face and his form of supple strength, he could make a fortune on the stage and set the matinee girl's heart throbbing with subtle and happy emotion. But no one would suspect behind that highly polished exterior the quiet force and determination

that now are sending shivers down the spine of Tammany's striped mascot. "'Senator Roosevelt is a fifth cousin of the warlike Colonel who bears the name G,' said a Tammany regular. The other Roosevelt didn't lose much time making trouble once he got here, but this fellow beat him to it. Oh, Franklin must love the times comparing him to Uncle Ted with a quote that intimates that he might be a stronger cup of tea than his own cousin-slash-uncle hero, no less. Franklin is only more and more determined to be like Teddy. He's even taken to the same

choice of eyewear, the always in style, arm free and nose pinching, Ponce-nay. It's here that the young state senator makes the acquaintance of Louis Howe, a journalist by training who, as I hinted at earlier, will become one of Franklin's closest confidants and advisors. Eleanor doesn't like Louis at first, but as the journalist treats her like a peer in many long conversations about politics, the two come to form a close friendship. But as Franklin's political career ascends,

it seems his marriage is starting to falter. Eleanor is getting increasingly frustrated by Franklin's lack of time and attention. In August 1909, she writes, I was horribly disappointed yesterday with your hasty little scrap of a letter after not getting anything for two days. Another letter from this same time reads, I feel quite lost and sad without you and it was hard coming home last night so I don't think we will try this experiment again, do you think? And to deathly, I hope you miss me dreadfully too.

Sadly, Franklin's and Eleanor's marriage will only erode all the more as they leave New York to the nation's capital. After going to a boarding school where his cousin slash Uncle Ted knows the headmaster, attending the same college, dropping out of the same law school and serving in the same state legislature, Franklin once again follows in Theodore Roosevelt's footsteps by becoming the assistant secretary of the Navy. He earned the privilege of a position in newly elected President Woodrow Wilson's administration by supporting the professorial Democrat over his beloved Uncle Ted. Ooh, a little cut throat, but Teddy ultimately understands.

Given the crazy of the GOP split in the 1912 election, a split due to Teddy's bull moose ways, as we know from episode 124, the election was Woodrow's. Franklin made the smart political play then, and TR won't let Franklin's ambition kill their relationship. Upon the younger Roosevelt's appointment by President Woodrow Wilson, the Bull Moose writes to his distant 31-year-old cousin, I was very much pleased that you were appointed as Assistant Secretary of the Navy. It is interesting to see that you are at another place which I myself once held.

I am sure you will enjoy yourself to the full as Assistant Secretary and that you will do capital work." Relocating to Washington, D.C., introverted Eleanor hires Lucy Mercer as her social events secretary. As time passes, the intelligent, witty, and somewhat younger woman becomes Franklin's personal secretary in the Navy. In 1918, while Franklin is at his mother's house, laid up with pneumonia, Eleanor finds Lucy's letters to her husband. In them is confirmation of what she already suspected. Franklin and Lucy are having an affair. Swirling conversations between the disgruntled married couple ensue. Eleanor offers to give Franklin his freedom,

but he realizes soon enough that this can't be. According to their son, Elliot Roosevelt's telling of the story, Franklin's mother would have cut him off financially as punishment for his infidelity. Additionally, Louis Howe thinks that the up-and-coming Democrat can't pursue the presidency as a divorcee. Sarah Roosevelt manages to talk the two off the ledge of divorce while Louis plays the mediator, convincing Franklin to agree never to see Lucy again. It's a promise he'll later break. Franklin's and Eleanor's relationship will mend, but not as it was.

Not as a traditional marriage. As Eliot so aptly puts it, quote, She knew enough of the strengths of the husband whom she no longer loved except as a sister to realize that he had greatness in him, which she could draw on. Close quote. Franklin and Eleanor have grown up from two kids in a naive state of love to two people partnered in politics. And continue in politics Franklin does. In 1920, as the Democrats nominate Ohio Governor James M. Cox for the presidency, they call on Franklin to be his VP. It's a political pole vault of a move for the Assistant Secretary.

But they run on sticking with outgoing and stroke-stricken Woodrow Wilson's plan for the U.S. to join the League of Nations, and as we know from episode 155, that is a losing proposition in post-war isolationist America. With silent Cal at his side, handsome Warren G. Harding deftly defeats the Democratic duo in November as they run on his return to normalcy slogan. And as we know from this episode's opening, it's just after this that Franklin accepts a different vice presidency, that of VP at Fidelity and Deposit Company, and then, in the summer of 1921, finds himself overcome with aches, fever, and paralysis that, only after a series of misdiagnoses, is determined to be infantile paralysis, or poliomyelitis.

That is, polio. It's soon apparent that the 39-year-old New York native will have a long road to recovery, and the two leading ladies in his life have a lot to say. Returning from a European tour, his mother, Sarah, insists that her son retreat from the public eye, much like his father did after his own health setbacks. But Eleanor and faithful advisor Louis Howe disagree. It's Franklin's body that's suffered, not his mind, and politics is a battle of wits.

Why shouldn't he continue his political career when he appears poised to achieve great success. The winter of 1921-22 is, as Eleanor calls it, the most trying winter. Franklin enters a deep depression and has a nasty temper. He is struggling with how to maneuver in his new polio-induced paralysis life. On October 9, 1922, he makes his first big public appearance after the diagnosis at his Fidelity and Deposit office. Franklin calls it a grand and glorious occasion, yet he doesn't go back for two more months. But after a life of privilege, these new physical limitations are, in some ways, transforming

him for the better. Historians will argue over how much this is the case, but be it small or seismic, the elite New Yorker shifts, emerging with a deepened character and more empathetic soul. Two years later, he's ready to emerge from this refiner's fire and return to the big stage. And that opportunity is here. Franklin is asked to speak at the Democratic National Convention in New York City's Madison Square Garden. This could be his triumphant comeback, but only if he can prove to the thousands of Democratic power brokers present and the millions of potential voters following the convention's

coverage on the radio or in newspapers that, despite the polio, he is a leader of vigor, energy, and strength. Franklin knows he can do that with his speech. But here's the real question. Can he project and maintain that image while getting to the rostrum? It's just after 12 noon, June 26th, 1924. We're in New York City,

inside the second iteration of Madison Square Garden. It's a gorgeous, Beaux-Arts structure with a Moorish flair, and right now, every single one of its 8,000 permanent seats and still so many thousands of chairs set up on the main floor are filled with Democratic state delegates, their alternates, and spectators. This is the third day of the Democratic National Convention, and in just a few moments, the New York delegation's chairman, Franklin D. Roosevelt, will deliver a speech nominating the Empire State's Governor Al Smith as the party's candidate for president. While most speakers would be nervous about what they'll say, Franklin's biggest concern

is traversing the distance from his seat on the floor to the rostrum. In an era where doing so in a wheelchair would make him appear weak, Franklin's practiced this crutches and leg brace walk for weeks in his home library. He's done it successfully there. But can he do so now, when it matters with some 20,000 spectators? Well, ready or not, it's time. Let's find out. Silence envelops the banner and bunting covered hall as

Franklin, aided by his 16 year old son James, rises from his seat on the floor. Then the 42 year old Democrat does what seems impossible. He begins to walk. The audience watches with bated breath, yet only Eleanor, the five Roosevelt kids, and other close friends here have any idea what Herculean effort this requires. Those watching don't know that his suit coat and slacks are hiding 14 pound metal braces that tightly seize his atrophied legs as they run from his waist all the way down to his heels.

They can't fathom the practiced and painstakingly acquired skill it takes for Franklin to use these braces to balance on his all but useless lower limbs. They can't see how his right hand seizes the crutch under that arm, nor how his other clings to James's for dear life. As the faithful teenage son will later recall, outwardly, Father was beaming, seemingly confident, and unconcerned, but I could sense his inner tenseness. His fingers dug into my arms like pincers. His face was covered with perspiration. Indeed, as the father and son walk, Franklin makes

eye contact with those in the audience to distract them from his robotic movements, his whisperings to James, or the simple fact that he's taking so very long to walk such a short distance. Things get more serious as Franklin and James approach the podium and his introduction begins. Franklin whispers to Pennsylvania politician Joseph Guffey, Joe, shake the rostrum. Joe doesn't understand. Keeping his composure though, Franklin repeats himself and thankfully, this time, the Pennsylvania

gets it. He shakes the podium and reports back to brave, slightly sweaty Franklin that it's firm. It will hold his body weight. But now comes the moment of truth. The final 15 feet to the rostrum, which the New Yorker must do as practiced in his library, all by himself. Taking a deep breath, Franklin grabs the second crutch from his son. Slowly and with careful, precise movements, he thrusts his neck out and back, moving the

crutches forward as he does so. It's working! FDR's paralytic, embraced legs move as he continues to balance. After what seems like an eternity, finally Franklin reaches the American flag covered rostrum. Grasping its sides to stabilize himself, in this moment, the audience can't see his hands turning white from how tightly he holds the rostrum to stabilize himself. No, all they see is his wide, winning smile.

The garden erupts into cheers and applause that last for three minutes before Franklin can even speak a single word into the four microphones before him. Dubbed the Happy Warrior speech as he riffed off of William Wordsworth's poem by the same name, Franklin's address was very well received. It didn't result in Al Smith getting the nomination. But honestly, the nominating part was of little note compared to Franklin's triumphant walk and the panache with which he spoke. According to the New York Herald Tribune, from the time Roosevelt made his speech, he has easily been the foremost figure

on the platform. This is not because of his name. There are many Roosevelts. It is because, without the slightest intention or desire to do anything of the sort, he has done for himself what he could not do for his candidate." But even as Franklin successfully reenters politics, he isn't ready to just accept that his body can't recover any further. On October 3rd, 1924, he visits a place that will become central to his next two decades, Warm Springs, Georgia. This place is a bit run down, but Franklin loves it all the same.

The dilapidated resort has an outdoor swimming pool and spring with a natural temperature of 89 degrees, which, according to Eleanor, had been known since the days of Indians who believed the waters had medicinal value. Though there's no proof of the so-called medicinal value, Franklin enjoys his aquatic exercise in these warm waters. I walk around in water four feet deep without braces or crutches, almost as well as if I had nothing to matter with my legs. It's one of the few times in which he can feel a little like his old self. With the help of some family money, FDR buys the spa in 1926 for $200,000. He brings on an orthopedic surgeon, hires a physiotherapist, builds a covered pool, increases the capacity of the hotel to accommodate more patients, and constructs a cottage for himself. Franklin doesn't charge those suffering from polio

to use the facilities. The health promoting proprietor soon picks up some nicknames. Old Dr. Roosevelt and Vice President in Charge of Picnics are two of my personal favorites. Franklin spends a lot of time here hoping to rehabilitate as he works remotely, shall we say, at Fidelity and Deposit. As for Eleanor, she stays busy too, building an independent life for herself with a strong network of female friends and a good job with the Democratic Party in New York. While these years are fairly unremarkable for the Roosevelts, 1928 brings a quick jolt back to the former New York State Assemblyman's

political life. Not only does he repeat his previous performance by once again nominating New York Governor Al Smith as the Democratic presidential candidate at this year's DNC, which this time is a successful nomination. But Al urges Franklin to run for his soon-to-be-vacant governorship. Though interested, Franklin hedges. His failure to get the nomination for U.S. Senate in 1914 and loss for the Vice Presidency in 1920 have taught him the value of timing. But ultimately, he and Eleanor decide he should risk it.

And so, Al and Franklin begin their somewhat overlapping rail and road campaigns. The Hyde Park native has regained a lot of mobility that doctors didn't think possible, but he still can't and never will walk unassisted, as is now apparent to New York voters. Al stands up for him, quipping, A governor does not have to be an acrobat. We do not elect him for his ability to do a double backflip or a handspring. Al does not win the presidency.

Republican Herbert Hoover crushes him, as we learned in episode 170. But Franklin wins his electoral battle against Republican Albert Odinger, squeaking by with the mere 25,000 more of the over 4 million votes cast for governor. Louis Howe believes this portends greater things. He immediately remarks, we've got the next president. But Al Smith doesn't agree. In truth, Al wanted Franklin to run as an insurance policy against his own White House run.

Assuming that, in the event of a loss, he could still run New York vicariously by using the wheelbarrow chound Roosevelt as his puppet. To say that Louis Howe forecast correctly and Al Smith didn't is almost an understatement. To Al's dismay, his likely disingenuous defense of Franklin proves true, that rather than spending most of his time at Warm Springs, Franklin proves an engaged and daring governor. His two terms over four years are filled with challenges. The reform-minded governor supports hundreds of bills that die in the state's Republican-dominated legislature. Yet, he proves a deft politician who can always twist the narrative

to one of victory. He does this brilliantly on the issue of using the St. Lawrence River for hydroelectric power, denying the Republicans' attempt to take all the credit. He also has to balance Tammany Hall's power with fighting New York City's political corruption, so evident in Mayor Jimmy Walker's administration, and fending off William Randolph Hearst's attacks as the sensational media mogul maligns him as a globalist. FDR manages all of this with considerable skill. Already mindful of the working man and farmers, Governor Roosevelt meets the Great Depression

by aggressively challenging the long-held American belief that government should stay out of the economic picture. While the Depression has led even the Republican Hoover administration long-held American belief that government should stay out of the economic picture. While the Depression has led even the Republican Hoover administration to experiment with an unprecedented degree of government intervention, as we know from episode 172, Franklin goes further with his talk of pensions for the elderly and most notably his temporary emergency relief administration. This straight funds the creation of jobs. Yes, jobs, not a government dole, which is an important distinction for Franklin, and furnishes food, clothing, and housing in more dire situations. Eleanor later writes in her autobiography that this seems to be when Franklin's political

goals solidified. Throughout the whole of Franklin's career, there never was any deviation from his original objective to help make life better for the average man, woman, and child. This approach is successful, and Franklin is re-elected in 1930 by a landslide. During his years as governor, Eleanor's husband also begins to perfect his ability to connect with the average man, woman, and child by speaking directly to them via the radio. While radio's growth has led to some political speeches being broadcast in recent years, the at-home listener was never the intended audience.

But it is for Governor Roosevelt. Hmm. Keep that in mind, as this isn't the last we'll hear of Franklin's soothing voice broadcasting into living rooms in a friendly way. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. The point is that Franklin has shown himself to be a likable, approachable, empathetic leader with a magical gift for navigating Republicans and Democrats alike, as well as the gumption to tackle the nation's dire economic woes.

Louis Howe was right. This is a president in the making, and on Saturday, January 23, 1932, Governor Roosevelt announces his candidacy. In preparing for the fight ahead, the governor also brings on the biggest brains he knows to help think through problems and solutions. These include faculty from his semi-alma mater of Columbia University, like law professors Raymond A. Molley and Adolf A. Burrill, or agricultural economist Rexford G. Tugwell. By March, Franklin's growing club of thinkers is dubbed his Brain's Trust, which is then

shortened to Brain Trust. They'll be crucial to Franklin in the White House, or rather, if he goes to the White House. And if that's going to happen, he first needs to gain the Democratic nomination at this summer's convention in Chicago. This is where James A. Farley enters the story. A professional politician of sorts, James' strategy is to convince the Dems that Franklin is the only viable candidate.

James pushes the idea that former Governor Al Smith is yesterday's news, and that O. and D. Young, who we saw help stabilize the German mark in the last episode, can't be the solution to the nation's woes when he himself is a symbol of all that is wrong with the economy as a bigwig at General Electric. Smooth James, smooth. After three rounds of balloting, Franklin emerges victoriously on the fourth. He will be the Democratic candidate for president. Now, this is still a time when candidates are expected to stay away from party conventions. But perhaps due to the constant need to prove his vitality and vigor despite his legs, Franklin decides, upon learning of his candidacy, that he needs to break precedent and show up in

person. He, his family, and entourage board a plane, a tri-motor Ford, for a turbulent-ridden, several-hours-long ride from New York to Chicago. While most are reaching for brown bags, Franklin spins the whole flight, with a cigarette holder clenched in his teeth and a pen in his hand, revising his speech. He knows how important this moment will be. It's just after 6 p.m., July 2, 1932. Franklin D. Roosevelt, his family, and some of his political advisors have made it to the Democratic National Convention now taking place at 1800 West Madison Street, Chicago

Stadium in, you guessed it, Chicago, Illinois. The stone and steel stadium with a capacity of 25,000 is packed. The architectural amplification system is such that even a whisper can be heard by everyone in the building. So it's the perfect place for a political convention. Wearing a blue suit with a rose lapel and battered hat, Brace wearing Franklin leans on a cane and clings to the arm of his son James while slowly making his way to the podium, set up in the center of the massive indoor arena. Cheering delegates surround him.

He clears his throat and delivers one of the most famous speeches of his career, borrowing a phrase from Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. That phrase is, a new deal. Listen for it as Franklin speaks. The very national convention of its nominee for president, to be formally notified of his selection, is unprecedented and unusual. But these are unprecedented and unusual times. Never before in modern history have the essential differences between the two major American parties stood out in such striking contrast as they do today. Republican leaders not only have failed in material things, they have failed in national vision. Throughout the nation, men and women forgotten in the political philosophy of the government

of the last 12 years look to us here for guidance and for a more equitable opportunity to share in the distribution of national wealth. Those millions cannot and shall not hope in vain. I pledge myself to a new deal for the American people. Give me your help not to win votes alone, but to win in this crusade to restore America to its own people. Unprecedented indeed. As we know from the last episode, the Great Depression, this seemingly endless economic nightmare that only grows worse with every passing year, has Americans ready to try a new course. As formerly popular Herbert Hoover falls from his pre-presidency great humanitarian pedestal

to become the namesake of the hobos Hoovervilles, Franklin's talk of a quote-unquote New Deal sounds like just the thing. Moreover, the New York State governor's presidential campaign is running like a well-oiled machine. He travels over 13,000 miles before election day that November, usually with one or more of his kids at each stop. Franklin's speeches at campaign rallies are carefully and delicately written, often by members of the brain trust. He needs to focus on timely issues that relate to the local population of his stop so that

he can meaningfully connect with the audience. He also has to appear to make promises about solving the current crisis without actually laying out a concrete plan that could get attacked by Herbert or after he's elected. That is, if he's elected. According to historian William Luckdenberg, Franklin, quote, was so genial and his prescriptions for the country so bland that some commentators questioned his capabilities and grasp of the serious challenges confronting the United States. Close quote. Yet, even though he's not laying out concrete policy, Franklin is succeeding at winning the hearts and minds of the American public. At the state capitol in Topeka, Kansas, on September 14th, he sympathizes with farmers

angered at the increased prices and the lack of help as they face the dry and windy challenges of the Dust Bowl. A few weeks later in San Francisco, he gives a more philosophical address, using the Great Depression as a method by which he ret a more philosophical address, using the Great Depression as a method by which he retells American history, arguing that the government must help fix the economy. While some historians have critiqued the nature of the speech, saying that the Democratic candidate appears snobbish and atavistic, others call a true telling and praise his masterful manner of targeting speeches at specific audiences' worries.

Franklin also continues to show his modernity and interest in speaking to the people directly with a nationwide broadcast the night before the election imploring the general public that, with your help and your patience and your generous goodwill, we can mend the torn fabric of our common life. FDR is electric. By contrast, his biographer Gene Smith writes of his opponent that, Hoover was pessimistic and bitter. He exuded defeat. Not hang dog-whipped puppy defeat, but the vanquishment of the proud done in by hubris and conceit." seat." Close quote. On November 8, 1932, Franklin goes to his local town hall in Hyde Park, New York to

cast a vote for himself as the 32nd President of the United States. With a popular majority of 22.8 million and 472 electoral votes, Franklin destroys President Herbert Hoover's 15.7 million and meager 59 ballots in the Electoral College. The now President-elect calls this the greatest night of my life. The night is less great for the First Lady-elect. I was happy for Franklin, of course, because I knew that in many ways it would make up for the blow that fate had dealt him. But for myself, I was deeply troubled. This meant the end of any personal life of my own.

I had watched Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt and had seen what it meant to be the wife of the President. As the weeks and months pass, Franklin is careful not to make any joint decisions with the soon-to-be ex-Pident during their late November visit at the White House or in subsequent communications. It's a touch ironic considering that Franklin was once a real fan of Burt's. But that was long ago. And besides, Burt's real motive in a joint anything is a positive spin on his own legacy and painting his successor into a not-so-New-Deal

corner. None of this works out for Burt, though. The President-elect artfully dodges. Franklin also dodges a near brush with death fired by a would-be assassin. Just returning from a cruise and speaking to a massive crowd in Miami, Florida's Bayfront Park on February 15, 1933, Franklin's words are interrupted as Giuseppe Zangara opens a rapid fire. The anarchists' five bullets wound five people, one being Chicago Mayor Anton Cermak, who will succumb to his chest wound in a few weeks. But none hit Franklin.

Once again, Franklin's path parallels that of his beloved, though now long-departed Uncle Ted. He survived an attempted presidential assassination. But of course, the presidency itself is the way in which Franklin next mirrors T.R. And perhaps not only in holding the position, but even in his approach to it. After all, Franklin has grand plans to resuscitate the Great Depression-struck United States, plans that may include a so-called New Deal. Now, it's a different era with different problems, and we know there's already some Mark Twain influence on the term, but it's hard not to think

of Theodore Roosevelt's square deal upon hearing his younger fifth cousin talk about a New Deal. Might Franklin be channeling his hero Uncle Ted with this language? I'll leave that for you to ponder. But regardless of any influence in this linguistic regard, it is clear that, like the rough-writing Roosevelt before him, the polio surviving Roosevelt inspires the American people. It's an overcast and rainy late morning, Saturday, March 4th, 1933. We're in Washington, DC for Franklin Delano Roosevelt's inauguration as the 32nd president. And despite the cheering crowds on Pennsylvania Avenue, Franklin is living through what might be the most awkward and uncomfortable drive of his life.

Franklin is living through what might be the most awkward and uncomfortable drive of his life. He's in an open car, making the short trip from the White House to the Capitol, riding with none other than the man he's here to replace, President Herbert Hoover, who's still mad that Franklin wouldn't do any joint anything with him. Hertz also decided that he doesn't think much of the bespectacled New Yorker, and right now, he's spurting Franklin's every attempt at small talk. Oof. It's going to be a long two miles to the Capitol building. The administration of John Nance Garner's oath as Vice President can't start soon

enough. Franklin gives up on Bitter Burt, tipping his hat to the surrounding crowds instead. The people's enthusiastic response to Franklin's overtures only irritates Burt all the more. It's now a little past 1 p.m. John Garner has taken his oath. James Roosevelt has, as usual, helped his brace-wearing father walk from one point to the next.

And now, Chief Justice Charles Evan Hughes is administering the oath of office to Franklin Roosevelt. In a new twist, Franklin is opting to repeat every word back to the Chief Justice, rather than simply saying, I do. Once the oath is done, Franklin, now the President of the United States, turns toward the crowd of a hundred thousand before him. They appear subdued, as subdued as the dreary day's drizzling weather, which Eleanor will later describe as

very, very solemn and a little terrifying. Is it just the weather, or is this the mood of a nation that's on its financial back with no end in sight. Perhaps the former has amplified the latter. But Franklin will not let this destructive pessimism, this fear endure. Propped up by his heavy and hidden leg braces, held in place by his own tight grip on the rostrum. This man who knows what it is to feel defeated, to feel dead, yet defiantly fight back,

delivers what must be the most inspiring, to feel dead, yet defiantly fight back, delivers what must be the most inspiring, hope-giving, and fear-defeating inaugural address since Lincoln's second, even if it's later generations that will truly appreciate his claim that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Today, Americans will be more impressed and pleased to hear his talk of decisive action with broad executive powers. But more on that another time. Right now, we need to hear this historic address. Take it away, Mr. President. I am certain that on this day, my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the presidency, I will address them with a candor and a decision

which the present situation of our people impels. This is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. This great nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror, which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life, a leadership of frankness and of vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves, which is essential to victory.

And I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days. I am prepared under my constitutional duty to recommend the measures that a stricken nation in the midst of a stricken world may require. These measures or such other measures as the Congress may build out of its experience and wisdom I shall seek within my constitutional authority to bring to speedy adoption but in the event that the Congress shall fail to take one of these two courses in the event that the national emergency is still critical, I shall not evade the clear course of duty that will then confront me.

I shall ask Congress for the one remaining instrument to meet the crisis, broad executive power, to wage a war against the emergency as great as the power that would be given to me if we were in fact invaded by a foreign foe. For the trust proposed in me, I will return the courage and the devotion that bestit the time I can do no less. We face the arduous days that lie before us in the warm courage of national unity, with the clear consciousness of seeking old and precious moral values, With the clean satisfaction that comes from the stern performance of duty by old and young alike,

we aim at the assurance of a rounded, a permanent national life. We do not distrust the future of essential democracy. The people of the United States have not failed. In their need they have registered a mandate that they want direct vigorous action. They have asked for discipline and direction under leadership. They have made me the present instrument of their wishes. In the spirit of the gift, I take it.

In this dedication, in this dedication of a nation, we humbly ask the blessing of God. May He protect each and every one of us. May He guide me in the days to come. to the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum for its rich collection of speeches and other writings. Learn more at FDRlibrary.org. Production by Airship. Sound design by Molly Bach. Theme music composed by Greg Jackson. Arrangement and additional composition by Lindsey Graham of Airship. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted HTVS is supported by fans at HTVSpodcast.com slash membership. My gratitude to you kind souls providing funding helps keep going. Thank you.

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